A DAY of splendour and romance
When Lady Diana Spencer married Prince Charles the whole world stopped to watch. The Weekly’s trusted court correspondent Anne Matheson was there to witness the historic occasion. As Charles and Diana’s youngest son enters into married life, we take a lo
It was a day that will live on in the memories of all those who saw it, whether they were among the privileged guests in St Paul’s Cathedral, the crowds who cheered the bridal procession through the streets, or the estimated 750 million all over the world who watched it on television.
The bride came to her wedding in a breathtakingly beautiful dress that spelled romance in every rustle of the parchment taffeta, the whisper of tulle underpinnings, the soft fall of the veil and the long, long train that swept back nearly out of sight of the royal family seated opposite the bride’s family, the Spencers, father, mother, brother and married sisters.
It was a day of such joy and happiness and strong emotion that many tears rose and sometimes spilled. They were tears of joy for two people who, through their simple love for each other, seemed to make the meaning of marriage something that touched not only their lives but the life of everyone. The Queen brushed a tear from her eye and Prince Charles sounded quite emotional as the great organ played his favourite hymn, Christ is Made the Sure Foundation.
The wedding dress was described as ivory, but I thought it much more sophisticated parchment. It was worked with old lace, which had been Queen Mary’s and came back into royal use through the royal school of needlework, its custodian since Queen Mary handed it over. The fitted bodice, frilled, curved neckline that showed off the bride’s beautiful swan-like neck, the intricate embroidery and lace, and the full puff sleeves and elaborate flouncing were wonderfully romantic. It was the perfect dress for a fairytale princess.
How could it be otherwise? This was a wedding to which everyone brought so much goodwill, which glossed over old hurts, and set a golden path for the Prince and Princess, whose life together started with joyful harmony.
Lady Diana wore the Spencer family tiara and, for something old, her mother’s earrings. She stepped out and down the aisle unhesitatingly with a firm tread that steadied her ailing father, the Earl Spencer, not yet fully recovered from a massive brain haemorrhage he suffered three years earlier. Beneath the volume of stiff taffeta and fine tulle were her delicate wedding slippers that could have been from a Renaissance painting. They were embroidered all over, and rosette and ruffle trimmed, with tiny fluted heels, for a bride not a centimetre shorter than her groom.
How she could have coped with the 7.5-metre long train without the self-possessed assistance of her niece Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones cannot be contemplated. It flowed and moved with a will of its own when not firmly controlled by the chief bridesmaid. The bridesmaids were pretty and demure in their charming dresses. Because of the length of the train they were out of sight of those near the altar, but a feast to those who could see it all on television. The two page-boys’ uniforms were, happily, from Victorian naval days and not sailor suits, as had been whispered.
It is traditional for royal brides to carry a sprig of myrtle in their bouquet, and Lady Diana’s came from the bush grown from the piece in Queen Victoria’s bouquet. She also carried Mountbatten roses – a moving tribute to the man Prince Charles called “Honorary Grandfather”, the assassinated Lord Mountbatten – orchids and gardenias in what was a waterfall of flowers.
Because of the length of the train I saw only Lady Sarah. But those who saw the wedding on television would note that India Hicks’ dress differed slightly from Lady Sarah’s, but was the same as Sarah Jane Gaselee’s. Clementine Hambro, the youngest, and Catherine Cameron were identically dressed. All but Lady Sarah, who had a posy, carried baskets of flowers and the younger bridesmaids wore garlands of colourful flowers on their heads. All the dresses, and that of the Princess, were designed by the Emanuels.
Whether the girl we came to love as shy Lady Di, and who we knew blushed, was, in fact, a blushing bride, will not be known, so heavy was her tulle veil. But she did lift her veil, give a whiff to move it and take in a deep draft of fresh air before dropping it. It was a quick and surreptitious move, but those close to her, as I was, felt glad she could. It must have been stifling.
Prince Charles spoke in a deep and sincere way, while Lady Diana had a light, rather girlish voice and we were reminded that she had only just turned 20, only two years older than Lady Sarah, now her niece.
I had a very good seat in St Paul’s. I was at the end of the second row, which is slightly above the front row, and I had a nice pillar, against which I could lean when I wanted to rise slightly from my seat to see more clearly what was going on at the altar. Of all the seven royal weddings I have attended, this was by far the most wonderful in its excitement, loveliness and romance.
It was a heart-warming occasion, and it was not my splendid position that made me so emotional: it was them – Charles and Diana – everything they did, the way they looked at each other, touched each other with such tenderness and the deep understanding of one for the other, which glowed and came through as a bright flame when Diana fluffed her lines. In her nervousness she said, “I take thee Philip Charles”, instead of “Charles Philip”. Was the Prince covering up for her, making her feel better about it, when he fluffed his responses and left out the word “worldly” and said “thy” instead of “my” when he said “and all thy goods I thee endow”?
Together the bride and groom had planned the music and in the magnificent setting of St Paul’s it was the “wonderful musical and emotional experience” the Prince had hoped for.
Kiri Te Kanawa may have said “Charles who?” when she received the message that he wished her to sing at his wedding, but her presentation of Let the Bright Seraphim was a heart-felt contribution to a splendid ceremony. If a wedding has a star after the bride and groom, Kiri was the star of St Paul’s. The New Zealand soprano’s notes, backed by the Bach Choir, and the voices of the choir boys with smoothed heads, looking like cherubs in their fluted collars, filled the Cathedral with their purity. The silver trumpets of the State Trumpeters of the Household Cavalry were a curtain-raiser to this great musical experience as the wide Cathedral doors opened for the bride and her retinue.
We were reminded that the wedding of Prince Charles to Lady Diana was at heart a family wedding by the singing of the simple hymns, all family favourites.
Princess Anne, whose flowered hat picked up the colours of the flowers in her pretty dress, which was rather short for present-day fashions, looked divine from the waist up. Her hat, like a Victorian posy of flowers, didn’t budge as she sang the wedding hymns with gusto.
Princess Margaret, who loves to sing, trilled away so happily one wondered whether it was from pride. Her daughter Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones had, once again, proved she could cope well during important occasions, and there was her joy that she, who once called herself “Charlie’s aunt”, was well pleased at his happiness.
The Queen sang and it did seem to relax her, for she had a rather solemn look at other times. Prince Philip sang, and so did the supporters, Prince Andrew, in his naval uniform, and Prince Edward – who everyone remarked was getting quite tall and dishy. The match-makers, Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, and Ruth, Lady Fermoy, the other grandmother, looked knowingly across the aisle at one another and the couple’s fathers seemed to nod to each other as if to agree, that this was a marriage to fulfill their dearest dreams.
This was a marriage to fulfill their dearest dreams.
Seated in the body of the Cathedral, not too far from the front, beneath the great dome, the Earl of Snowdon was certainly singing. Beside him, the Countess of Snowdon, his second wife Lucy, wore such a large hat and droopy brim you couldn’t be certain whether she sang or, indeed, whether it was really her, seated so shyly among the guests on such a right royal day.
Singing their hearts out, not a millimetre from the bride’s 7.5-metre long train which flowed back and swelled out to almost touch their feet, were Lady Diana’s flatmates in single days: Carolyn Pride, Virginia Pitman and Anne Bolton. They were wearing blue in varying shades, and either navy or white hats, and they were in the very front row, the most prestigious place of all in St Paul’s Cathedral.
As at almost any wedding there was time to take stock. Many of the guests had not seen each other for years and many members of the royal family had not been seen for a long time. Noting the changes was a small and enjoyable part of the wedding. There was Princess Alice, the Duchess of Gloucester, very sweet looking, wearing amethyst patterned silk chiffon and a pretty hat, the dress by Franka, the hat, of course, by Frederick Fox, the best-known Australian in the world of royal headgear. The Duke of Gloucester wore uniform, and had some trouble controlling his son, the Earl of Ulster, a lively young chap. The young Duchess of Gloucester, in a dusty lavender, also made by Franka, looked more Danish now than when she married, and immeasurably more stylish in her dress.
Princess Alexandra could again take the prize for the most elegant guest in a stunning outfit by Belinda Bellville, who made Diana’s going-away dress. Princess Michael of Kent, whose style has a certain flamboyance, was toned down and understated in palest grey by Hardy Amies and another of those divine Gainsborough hats. She clearly had decided it was the bride’s day.
Once again Lady Helen Windsor was the sophisticate among the young royals. Princess Alexandra’s daughter Miss Marina Ogilvy has lost that wild look and was quite pretty in a pink satin jacket and white skirt. The Duchess of Kent looked as exquisite as a piece of porcelain in palest pink with frills, two roses tucked behind her excessively smooth hairdo, the whole veiled in finest pink net. The Duchess is in the Bach Choir and would clearly have loved to be with them.
Whatever the present Countess Spencer, Raine, daughter of Barbara Cartland, felt about being demoted to a seat in the Cathedral fourth row back and four in from the end, she did not show any emotion, yet she must have been charged with it. She watched her beloved Johnnie, Lord Spencer, wincing in pain, pale and shaky and looking older than his 57 years, give the lovely bride in marriage.
There is nothing more obvious than a monarch alone, and when ex-King Constantine of Greece arrived at St Paul’s without his ex-Queen Anne-Marie I wondered why. But a word with his aide after the royal marriage and the secret was out. Queen Anne-Marie is expecting her fourth child, and all engagements have been cancelled.
Princess Grace, who did not get a very good response to her whiter-than-white outfit for Princess Anne’s wedding, took no chances of offending at Prince Charles and Lady Diana’s wedding by dressing up her wide-brimmed hat with three roses, red, white and blue.
Outside the Cathedral the exuberance was still evident. The Prince and Princess of Wales were now out of sight and the last of royalty in open carriages were on the receiving end of the even more deafening cheers. We had thought the crowds would break up. But the enthusiasm was still riding high and the other celebrities came under close scrutiny. Would the King of Tonga squeeze into the sleek limousine? He did.
Would Spike Milligan go on with his goonery? (He had been jumping from his car, white-gloved, shaking hands along the route every time the traffic jammed.) He did.